


Pink Stags

by Hammocker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Drunkenness, Gen, Pre-Slash, Psychedelic Imagery, Season/Series 01, Trippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4921486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammocker/pseuds/Hammocker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Will had wanted to do was to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal brings out the experimental weirdo in me, I swear to God. I don't know what this thing is, but I wrote it apparently. Hopefully you know what to make of it better than I do.

Will couldn't sleep. It wasn't anything new, lately almost every night of sleep had been miserable and too short. He felt like he was being tortured, slowly deprived of more and more sleep over time, methodically driven to madness. And the nightmares. Always his damn stag. Just thinking about it sent a chill down his spine. It ate at his mind like nothing else, taunting him with his slipping sanity. But he only had himself to blame. Will had taken on investigations on a whim, on the assumption that he could handle them. If he was traumatized, he only had himself to blame and he had to deal with it.

Thus his presence in front of his fridge at two in the morning, taking out a plastic bottle full of gin. Will didn't drink the stuff often; the taste was bitter and unpleasant on his tongue, and the buzz brought him little pleasure, but he didn't have any other immediate options. All he wanted was to numb himself so he could maybe, just maybe, pass out on the floor and get a good twelve or so hours of unconsciousness.

The light tapping of claws against wood alerted him to a dog entering the room. He turned his head and found Winston staring at him, wondering perhaps. Of all the dogs, Winston seemed to be the most concerned with Will. Maybe that was just because he was new, but Will appreciated it nonetheless.

“Hey, Winston,” Will greeted his friend. “Can't sleep either?”

The dog stepped up to him and sat next to him, opening his mouth for a moment to pant and smile at him. Will reached out with his free hand and started stroking his head. As he did so, he continued to sip on the gin. The glass went down a little too fast for his liking. He was beginning to feel less on edge, less like he might snap and turn on his friends, but it still wasn't enough to knock him out. So, he poured himself another, against his better judgment.

Before long, Will's eyes felt heavier than before and the darkest parts of his mind were no longer eating at his conscience. It was quite pleasant really, being in a position to not have constant thoughts of death and destruction on his mind. To not reach a different conclusion about his sanity every minute. He let his head drop and his eyes droop. Maybe this was the right choice after all. For just a moment, Will was able to relax. In the next, a clicking on the floor, heavier than dog's claws, had Will snapping his gaze back up.

The stag was in his home, in his kitchen, standing across the room from him. It stared at him. He stared back. But it wasn't the stag. It wasn't his stag. It looked like his stag, very much looked like it in form and shape, but this stag was tinted bright pink. Practically glowing pink in the low light. It would have looked ridiculous to anyone else anywhere else, Will was sure, but he could no longer see it as such. Will's breathing grew stilted and he could feel his heart race.

Will glanced briefly at Winston who was still present despite the stag. He was giving Will his wondering look once more. Could he see it? No, no, of course not. Stags couldn't be pink, this thing wasn't really in his house, and it would just go away if he-

The sound of bones crunching and deforming brought Will's attention back the stag, still standing in its place. Its expressionless face had morphed into a grotesque, toothy grin, mouth stretching its jaw out horizontally. Will feared his stag, feared how it so often loomed in the distance, but this thing, it wasn't afraid to come close, to show itself for what it was. He didn't know what it wanted or where it came from, but he was suddenly positive it would hurt him if he let it.

Will stood up. He needed to get away right away, but his legs were wobbly and didn't want to carry him anywhere fast. He had to steady himself somehow.

“My name is Will Graham,” he began.

The stag's head and stomach began to contort unnaturally outward, growing amorphous lumps as it convulsed with effort. Its eyes were wide, but its grin hadn't dissipated, and it was making a sound like it was being ripped apart from the inside out. Will had to wince and cover his ears to try and block it out, but his hands were as unsteady as his legs. Its maw began to stretch downward, like a rubber band being drawn down by an unseen force, and out from it crawled a second second stag, wriggling out onto his kitchen floor. It sported the same grin and the same pink coat.

“It's two-thirty in the morning,” Will continued, voice shaking as he backed away.

The stags were repeating their duplication process, more of their kind filling the room, all the while making the same awful flesh-tearing noise. Some had begun to rear up on their hind legs. They were beginning to look almost human. 

“There are pink stags in my home,” Will finished. It sounded insane, but, as far as he could tell, it was true.

Will managed to stumble out into the hall between the kitchen and his living room. Where had Winston gone? In fact, why hadn't his other dogs come to investigate the noise? The stags were loud, projecting the crunch of skin and bone being broken throughout the house. It should have gotten their attention. It was certainly getting into his head.

He stepped into the living room. It was dark, but his eyes were adjusted well enough. Nonetheless, he didn't spot a single dog sleeping on the floor. That, even more than the stags, set off alarm bells in his head. Had something happened while he was drinking? Was there something driving the dogs to hide? They couldn't have gotten outside. The door was shut and locked.

The tearing disappeared suddenly, prompting Will to look back towards the kitchen. Silence came over his house, lasting a whole of five seconds. Then a wave of laughter began. Not laughter, not exactly, but laughter was the closest comparison. It was more like braying, like a sound an animal might make. Laughter that sounded like braying? Braying that sounded like laughter? Will wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about a lot of things anymore. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen, but it could have been coming from his head.

The laughter only grew louder as three stag heads poked out from the divider between the kitchen and the hall. Their horns seemed entangled, the two on the side fruitlessly pulling away from the one in the middle. It all but dragged them out of the kitchen, glancing Will's way for a moment before heading in the opposite direction. Maybe they weren't out for his blood as he might have initially thought. Maybe that one wasn't.

Those three must have been acting as a cork, because as soon they were gone, a wave of the pink cervids came flooding out, some on hind legs, some still on all fours. Some must have gone back, some forward, up and down his house, but wherever they'd gone, it only took a few seconds for Will's vision to be almost completely filled with pink. He tilted his head all around, trying to take in the full scene to no avail. They hurried up and down his home in an incredible feat of organized chaos. Some walking, trotting, running, leaping. A few seemed to dance or beat an invisible drum with their forelegs. Occasionally one might bite at the tail of another, causing an uproar of wheezing laughter. He caught one juggling its own horns as it trotted along, even as the stumps on its head bled down its face. And God, the noise was unbearable, louder than it had ever been.

Will didn't know if it was safe to move or not, but the stags seemed to avoid touching him at least. Maybe they were circling him, waiting for the right time to pounce. They had him outnumbered a hundred to one, why couldn't they just pounce now? If that was they wanted. Maybe they just wanted to torment him.

A stag passed just in front of his face, convulsing as the first had when it had made its initial copy. Were they still, for lack of a better word, reproducing? They couldn't be, they couldn't all fit in his house and keep creating new stags. If their intent was to stay in his house.

The house. The house could be opened. He could let this wave of pink get out. He might be releasing them into the world, but anything was better than them overflowing his home.

As fast as his shaking legs would take him, he hurried for the foyer. He had to hug the wall, keep his head low to prevent himself from being skewered or charged or, God help him, grabbed by any of the things. They still seemed to be avoiding him, but he wasn't going to chance anything.

Finally, he made it to the door and balanced himself against its border. He reached out, grabbing feebly at the deadlock for a moment before he got a grip and unlatched it. Taking a deep breath, he reached down and did the same for the knob's lock. It was freezing out, the chilled wind licking at him even from where he stood, but it was open and the stags could leave. Hopefully they'd be able to get through with their horns. They'd done all sorts of strange acts already, why not one more?

Will backed away from the door, backed away until he found a table to steady himself against. He couldn't do anything more. It was a matter of waiting and watching. He wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, that was for certain. Not with the noise.

They were all laughing at him, he realized suddenly. Mocking him, Making him feel small in his own home. And God did he feel small. He wouldn't have minded curling up into a ball and disappearing. A coward's way out, maybe, but anything was preferable to this. Anything.

Out of nowhere, a stag, as it leapt at something behind him, managed to shoulder him off balance, sending Will face first to the floor. It hurt, but Will wouldn't get up. His limbs wouldn't carry his weight anymore, and he didn't want them to anyway. Better to not look at them, and try not to listen. Hope they wouldn't trample him. They were solid animals, they could trample him, he was sure. But he had to wait for them to leave. They had to leave sooner or later. Bringing his arms over his head, Will squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the stags to just go away. Just go away. Just go. Just...


	2. Chapter 2

Will was in a dark void. He'd only just become aware of it. It felt like he was floating. And it was so quiet. So nice and quiet, if a little cold. But Will didn't mind cold all that much. There was, however, a bit of warmth pressed against him. Something on his back, maybe. His senses were too dulled to know for sure. Will tried to raise his head, tried blink or make a sound, but his efforts seemed in vain. But the something seemed to have noticed.

“Hush. You are safe.”

Will knew that voice. Could recognize it anywhere in any state.

“Hannibal?” he mumbled, barely even able to hear himself.

“You are relaxed, Will. There is no need to fight that. You will fall back asleep in a moment and wake when you are refreshed.”

The sensation on his back disappeared as he lighted down on something soft and pliant. It was a nice idea, he thought, sleeping a little longer. And he was very relaxed, it was true. No reason not to listen to Hannibal. Or Hannibal's voice. It could have been a figment of his twisted imagination. It didn't matter either way. Will let his head loll back and allowed himself to sink back into the darkness.

*****

The first thing Will noticed as he drifted back into consciousness was the taste of death in his mouth. It was like he'd approached one of his more gruesome crime scenes and decided to take a lick. Not only that, but his head was pounding something awful. He reached up to grip it, eyelids flickering open at the same time. He was met with strong, afternoon sunlight streaming into his eyes, and promptly covered them as such.

What had happened last night? Something must have for him to feel like this. He'd been drinking, obviously, but something more tugged at his mind. A darkness at the edge of his memory. He remembered fear clearly, but why? What had scared him?

He was distracted from the question by the sound of his door creaking open and. Looking up, he found Hannibal striding towards him, a cup of what looked like water in his hand. Will should have been surprised, but he wasn't. If anything, he was grateful. Some human companionship, however dry, was very welcome at that moment.

“Good afternoon, Will” Hannibal said, offering him the glass. “Please, drink. You'll feel better.”

Will didn't have to be told twice, taking the glass and downing it in just a couple gulps. It didn't taste good, but it was better than the rotten corpse that had been on his tongue.

“Thank you,” he said once he'd finished and placed the glass on his bedside table. “How'd you know I needed that?”

“There's drink in your breath and an open bottle of gin in the kitchen.”

“Yeah. Guess that'd give it away,” Will said. His memories were slowly returning to him, like a dream that had faded ago.

“Why are you here?” he continued.

“I was asked to check on you when you didn't answer your phone this morning.”

“What time is it?” Will asked, glancing towards the window.

“Going towards three in the afternoon now. You were expected long ago.”

“Yeah. I was.” But that didn't matter. “God, I haven't slept that long in weeks.”

“Perhaps it is for the best then.”

Will looked back up Hannibal. “How'd you get in?”

“Your door was left open.”

He must have opened the door at some point, but the reason was escaping him. Something to do with an animal?

“I guess it might have been.”

“Why did you feel the need to intoxicate yourself last night, Will?”

Not just an animal. A stag.

“I drank because I wanted to sleep.”

“Did it help?”

Not just a stag, stags.

“No. It didn't.”

“It must have had some affect for you to open your door and allow the elements inside.”

Pink stags.

“I was drunk. People don't think straight when they're drunk,” Will gave a huff of laughter. Pink, dancing stags. “But they don't usually see stags either.”

“Stags?” Hannibal echoed. “More than one?”

“Stags,” Will confirmed with a nod. “I saw them last night.”

“You didn't dream them?”

“No, I was awake, I'm positive. Hallucinating. Not a nightmare like usual.”

“A sign that you feel it has gained power in your mind, perhaps?”

“It wasn't my stag.”

“Whose was it?”

“I don't know if it was anyone's,” Will said, shaking his head. “It looked like my stag, but it was pink and it grinned and- vomited up copies of itself to parade around my home. It was a drunken perversion of my stag.” Will gritted his teeth and gripped at his head. A frustration came with the memory, a knowing that it had caused him grief yet no knowledge of why. 

“I don't understand it,” he hissed.

“Hallucinations are not often grounded in reality, nor are they bound to the memories and emotions dreams tend to be.”

“But why hallucinate pink stags of all things? Even with a stag-ridden history.”

“Perhaps you expected them to be pink. Some like to say that the inebriated see pink elephants. Does that mean anything to you?”

Pink elephants. A memory long locked away to go with a new memory.

“It does mean something,” Will admitted.

“Do tell.”

“Dumbo.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dumbo, the- the Disney movie about the elephant who learns to fly?”

Hannibal hesitated before he answered. Caught off-guard, maybe.

“I am- somewhat familiar.”

“I saw it a couple times as a kid. I don't remember much, but I do remember the pink elephants.”

“What stood out about them?”

“They frightened me. I knew they weren't real, but they frightened me.”

“Did the pink stags frighten you?”

““I am not the type to faint when things are odd or things are quaint-,” Will chanted from a foggy memory, a sour smile on his lips. “-but seeing things you know that ain't can certainly give you an awful fright.””

Hannibal stared at him for a long moment, perhaps not sure what to make of the rhyme. “You feel this way often in regards to many things,” he said, more statement than speculation.

“They're still parading about my mind. They laughed, Dr. Lecter. Maybe at me, maybe at something else. Stags don't laugh, not like they did. Why would a stag laugh?”

“Only you can truly know why, Will.”

“I feel like they were trying to tell me something.”

“Perhaps. They could mean everything or nothing at all. Sometimes a hallucination simply is what it is.”

“Maybe. I guess I'm just- shaken.”

Hannibal sat down next to Will, reaching out a hand to place on one of Will's. He was holding back, gauging whatever reaction he got, Will was certain.

“There is no shame in asking for comfort from a friend. I'll not think you weak for it.”

It was an invitation, one Will would be loath to reject.

Will leaned up against Hannibal, letting his head rest on the other man's shoulder. In turn, Hannibal reached his arm around Will's waist. It wasn't enough to give Will a full sense of security. He wouldn't have minded climbing on Hannibal's lap for a full embrace, but he wasn't sure if that was too forward

“I'm afraid, Hannibal, all the time. Of my mind and what it's capable of and what I might do.”

“Fear keeps us alive, my dear Will, as much as it inhibits us.”

“Do you think I'm inhibiting myself?”

“If one can learn that a fear reaction is no longer necessary, inhibition may be overcome.”

That sounded like a “yes.” But then, with Hannibal, one could never truly tell.

“I'd rather not be afraid.”

“You are quite safe with me at your side.”

It was a comforting idea, that Hannibal could serve as a protector of sorts. Will didn't trust it, couldn't bring himself to trust it, but he allowed himself to indulge momentarily. He leaned just a bit farther to press his nose against Hannibal's neck. His therapist's scent was masked by expensive cologne, but he still detected a hint of earth and perspiration and unmistakable maleness in what he breathed in. That was more comforting than anything Hannibal could say; the knowledge that Hannibal, despite his stone face and cold words, was human.

Will would have liked to stay like that, being close enough to Hannibal to take in his scent and hear him steadily inhale and exhale. It might have been ill-advisable, but Will wanted more opportunities to be held and comforted. He wanted Hannibal to embrace him properly. He wanted someone to fall back on when he was vulnerable.

“Hannibal, can I ask you to do something?”

“You may.”

But it was more than he could ask for just then.

“Would you take all of the booze you can find in my house and get rid of it? I don't care how, just get it far away from me as soon as possible. And, for the love of God, never let me drink again.”

“I make no promises on the latter, but I will remove any alcohol from your home. I don't wish for you to aggravate your condition unnecessarily.”

“Thank you,” Will said as he allowed his arms to slip off Hannibal. “For all your help.”

“It's my pleasure, Will,” Hannibal said, letting Will go in turn. “Now, if you don't mind, we're very late for lunch.”

“Right. Food would be nice.”

Maybe Will could articulate his wants one day, but today was not that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, critiques and corrections are very welcome. This is my first time writing these guys properly, I like to know if I'm fucking up so I can, you know, not.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively, I might call this chapter, "The Closest Will Graham Ever Got to Having a House Party."
> 
> If I've made a mistake of any kind, tell me for goodness sake. I have a terrible habit of accidentally omitting chunks of stories and I'm not completely sure if everything is consistent with the show in terms of technical details. Critiques are always appreciated.


End file.
